


Terms of Venery

by smalltrolven



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Operas, Season/Series 05, Soulmates, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 14:18:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13101948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smalltrolven/pseuds/smalltrolven
Summary: In an effort to woo his newfound love, Dean, (who happens to be the son of his boss, John the Forester), young hunter Sam asks for help from another hunter Brady, whose soul is to be forfeited to the devil on the following day, and hopes to obtain three more years of grace by substituting Sam in his place. A magical casting of enchanted bullets takes place in a terrifying Glen.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not my characters, only my words. Originally written for [](https://spnopera.livejournal.com/profile)[spnopera](https://spnopera.livejournal.com/) but not finished in time for the challenge. Story is based on the opera, “Der Freischutz” by Carl Maria Von Weber. Repurposed for the [](https://spnaubigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[spnaubigbang](https://spnaubigbang.livejournal.com/) because I just couldn't get the story out of my mind. Thanks so much for the wonderful art to [](https://shadowcat221b.livejournal.com/profile)[shadowcat221b](https://shadowcat221b.livejournal.com/).  Title from the word-of-the-day email that arrived the day I was searching for a title, could it possibly be more fitting? Venery:
> 
> 1\. The practice or pursuit of sexual pleasure.
> 
> 2\. Hunting.
> 
> In olden times one was supposed to know the terms of venery.
> 
> Libretto in English is here:
> 
> http://www.opera-guide.ch/opera.php?id=419&uilang=en

 


	2. Chapter 2

!~*@~*!

The gun felt heavier than usual. Colder in his hand too, even on this warm night. Maybe it was all the practicing, his arm was leagues past tired. But it was probably the distraction of the beautiful boy watching him. No, not just a boy, but a man, or at least close to being one, just like himself. Pity he was not much more than a fatherless peasant, as the man watching him was of a much higher station being the son of the newly arrived Forester.

_It could’t hurt to look though, and maybe impress him with my shooting. His name, maybe if I could at least be brave enough to ask his name, I could concentrate on shooting practice. No one expects me to win, but my whole future is riding on it._

The thudding of the ax continued to interrupt his thoughts with it’s rhythmic fall against the wood. A quick glance told Sam that the man had removed his outer garments, wood cutting was hard work. The body that it had given him though was perfection; and was most definitely the body of a man, not a boy. The water jug that Jo had brought out to him was still cold enough that sweat was running down its silvery sides. Grasping the jug and two of the cups on the tray, Sam strode across the clearing and into the forest towards the man he’d been obsessing over for days.

He hit one of the cups into the jug making a metallic clang ring out through the forest glade. The man set his ax down between his feet and looked up at Sam.

“Would you care to join me for some cold water?” Sam asked, heart in his  throat as the man’s green eyes seemed to take hold of his own ability to breathe as his body was examined from head to toe.

The man smiled, a little lopsided, brilliant white teeth shining through the gloom, but stayed silent. Sam stepped forward offering a cup and noticed the beautiful crinkles around the eyes that hadn’t yet left his face. “Here you are. Jo brought it to me, fresh from the well. You look as if you need it after all the chopping.”

The man accepted the cup, briefly pausing as their fingertips grazed and seemed to catch and almost merge. Their eyes both widened at the feeling that seemed to be mutual and the man drank deeply from the cup, tipping his head back so that Sam could admire the long stretch of the tan column. Sam gulped loudly, unable to avoid picturing it adorned with some of his own marks.

“You the other forester that works for my father?” the man asked, handing the cup back to Sam.

Their fingertips again engaged in the strange connection as they briefly touched, time seemed to stop as they held the small contact.

“Yes I do, my name is Sam.”

“I’m Dean. It’s nice to actually meet you,” Dean answered, finally letting go of the contact of their fingertips.

“Guess your father’s put you to work already,” Sam observed with a wry grin at all the perfectly chopped wood surrounding them.

“Yeah, he’s always after me to keep busy. Mostly he just wants me out of his hair so he can do his job. But I don’t mind. Everyone needs firewood.”

“That we do, it gets much cooler in the winter here once the snows begin. How was it in the region you lived in?”

“It rained a lot during the winter, not much snow at all. Different trees too, that’s my favorite thing about my father’s job.”

“What? The trees?” Sam asked, surprised that trees would be on anyone’s favorites list.

“Yeah, they’re different, everywhere we go. And I…uh….I like learning about them, drawing them, stuff like that.”

“Your father told me he’d lived here a long while ago, so he already knows these trees I suppose,” Sam said.

“That was the year when I was four, but all I remember about being here is the fire. I don’t remember the trees as well as I wish I could, but I’m getting to know them again,” Dean said, running one sturdy hand up and down the ash tree trunk.

Sam watched Dean’s hand move, entranced with the gentle strength he could see in the rhythmic movements. “A fire? The one that burned the forester’s cabin and all the surrounding ones, seventeen years ago?”

“Yes, it killed my mother and we…uh…we had to leave, and we’ve been on the road ever since, traveling around, there’s always another forest that needs a Forester,” Dean said, hand stilling against the tree bark, knuckles going white as he gripped it harder, obviously trying to control his emotions.

“I…I’m so sorry. That’s awful, Dean,” Sam said.

“What’s done is done. No use dwelling, that’s what the old man’s always saying anyway,” Dean said with a shrug, taking his hand away from the tree and clasping it behind his neck.

“So I’ve noticed,” Sam said with a smile.

“You lived here long?” Dean asked, hesitantly returning the smile.

“All my life, I was a foundling. Ellen, the house manager found me at the edge of the forest the night of that fire, wrapped up in a blanket, said I was around six months old. She named me Sam, and I’ve lived here ever since.”

Dean paused for a long moment, as if he was trying to puzzle something out. Then he abruptly asked, “Why have you been firing the pistol all day, Sam?”

“Oh, was the noise bothering you? I’m sorry. I just…I have to practice, for the tournament,” Sam said, nervous all of a sudden, wishing he had put his pistol away before he’d come over with the water.

“The noise wasn’t a problem, cutting wood ain’t exactly quiet. What tournament?” Dean asked.

“The one that will set me on my path, to officially become your father’s apprentice ranger. The person who wins, gets the job. If I lose, then my future is lost,” Sam said, trying and failing to keep the worry out of his voice.

“My father said you were the best shot around, that you were pretty much a sure thing.”

“He did? Really?” Sam asked, feeling instantly better at the second-hand praise.

“Yeah, and from what I just saw, he’s right,” Dean said, sounding completely sure of what he was saying.

“You were—uh—watching me?” Sam asked, feeling shy just at the tone of Dean’s voice.

Dean just grinned and picked up his ax, holding the handle firmly in his large, competent hands. Sam watched as he slid one hand up to the tip and gripped it harder. “Yeah, you’re a sure thing, Sam.”

Sam felt his knees go weak at the provocative implication of Dean’s words and gestures, but tried to steady his hand that still held his pistol. “You going to be there tomorrow, at the contest?”

“I wasn’t planning on it, but now that I’ve seen you in action—yeah I’ll be there.”

“Good, I’ll see you—,” Sam said, interrupted by a familiar voice shouting his name from the woods. “That’s your father calling for me, I gotta go.”

“Bye, Sam,” Dean said softly as Sam turned to leave. “Thanks for the water.”

Sam turned back for a moment and looked at Dean. “You’re welcome, Dean. I’m glad I finally got to meet you.” He blushed when he saw Dean’s color come up, flooding his sharp cheekbones with a beautiful red stain. Stopping himself before he did something stupid like kiss him, he turned and ran towards the impatient sounds that John was making deeper in the forest.

!~*@~*!

The next day came too soon for Sam, he woke from an intense dream starring the green-eyed man he’d drooled over yesterday. Dean’s plush lips had been busy mapping out his body, while his own hands slid across Dean’s powerful, ax-wielding shoulders. He rolled over on his bed, dislodging the straw and strewing herbs, his face ending up on the cold metal of his pistol. What a way to wake up, thoughts of a beautiful man taking him apart and a cold gun in the face. At least the gun would warm up and win him a future today, even if he never stood a chance with Dean.

After several rounds of shooting, it was down to Sam and a younger peasant named Gordon. Sam looked over the top of Gordon’s tightly curled, black hair, searching the crowd for the eyes he wanted to see watching him. Finally he located Dean, near the back, standing beside Dean’s father and his own boss, John Winchester. There was something about seeing the two of them standing together watching him that sent a shiver up his spine. Some thrill of recognition of something experienced but not quite remembered.

The command to shoot broke Sam out of his aimless musings, he flashed a grin across the field to Dean who instantly returned it. Sam stood up straighter and taller, rolling his shoulders and centering himself. He counted down to himself, blew out his breath, took aim and fired. The bullet flew straight and true, landing almost dead center on the target. Loud cheers and whoops rang through the air.

One more shot left to Gordon, this one would determine the outcome of the contest. Sam watched as the younger man lifted his slightly rusty pistol and braced himself to shoot, the loud retort pierced his ears and the crowd gasped. Gordon’s shot had landed dead center on his target. There was no need to measure, he’d clearly won. Sam gritted his teeth and shook Gordon’s hand in congratulations, assuring the older man that it was well deserved.

Sam stalked off the field away from the crowd that had spilled out onto the contest grounds. He crashed through the forest, still hearing the singing and cheering that broke out behind him, something about Gordon being “King of Marksmen.” That only made him begin to move into a faster trot, soon heading up the small mountain behind the castle, to one of the only places he ever felt at peace.

Sam burst into the small clearing and flopped down onto the flat granite boulder that stood at the cliff’s edge. He stared up into the early evening summer sky and tried to fight back the tears of frustration. There was nothing he’d needed more than to win that contest. It was his only pathway out of this life of dull servitude. He’d wanted to become the Forester someday, more than anything, there didn’t seem to be anything left to hope for. The tears finally came on, bursting forth and carving familiar tracks through the day’s dust on his face.

“Here, let me,” a voice said from behind him, shadow blocking out the early stars and light of the rising moon. A soft cloth was pressed to the sides of his face, absorbing his tears. He opened his eyes and was shocked to see Dean looking down at him with a face full of concern. “Are you all right, Sam?”

“Yeah, uh, I guess,” Sam muttered, body flooding with embarrassment at being discovered crying after such a humiliating loss.

“I thought you did really well today,” Dean said, sitting down next to him on the sun-warmed granite.

Sam momentarily thought about getting up and walking away, avoiding this gut-churning humiliation for one more minute, but then he saw Dean’s eyes, how open they were, how wide and beautiful. He felt himself fall into them, even though he was lying down looking up at Dean, he fell and fell further still into their endless depths and nothing hurt and nothing was disappointing and all he could feel was safe and loved and finally at home. He came back to himself when Dean’s warm hand was stroking his cheek.

“Hey, Sam, snap out of it,” Dean’s warm voice enveloped him, bringing him back to the now of being laid out flat on his back next to this beautiful man who was still carefully drying his tears.

“Dean, I’ve got nothing now, there’s nothing for me, nowhere to go, I can’t…” Sam said, starting to cry again despite his best efforts.

“Hey, c’mon now, it’s gonna be okay, Sam,” Dean said, scooping Sam up to lay across his lap and nestle in his arms. Sam began to move away in protest, but Dean just held him closer. “It’ll all turn out, you’ll see, Sammy.”

The name, _that name_ , Sammy, seemed to ring truer than anything else he’d ever heard in his life. Dean’s voice sounding so familiar, so perfect, so right, calling him Sammy, like he had been doing it his whole life, or like he should have been. It was like the thing that had been missing that Sam had never figured out. And now Dean was holding him and he couldn’t stop crying.

“You just get it all out. I know that was disappointing to lose like that. But there will be something else that’s the right thing for you, and you’ll win, you’ll see, Sammy.”

Sam heard it again, the rightness of the name off of that tongue, out of that beautiful mouth. He rubbed his face dry against the roughness of the linen and flax shirt Dean wore and then looked up at him. More stars had risen along with the moon and Dean looked like an unearthly, faery being, too gloriously perfect to be real. Sam shivered with the idea.

“Hey, you okay? You cold?” Dean asked, concern troubling his brow.

Sam just stared, slightly open-mouthed up at this boy, this man who held him, watching his lips move, wondering what they’d feel like on his. “I…I’m okay, yeah,” Sam finally managed to say. He began to try and sit up and get out of the strange position across Dean’s lap, but Dean’s arms tightened around him holding him there. He looked at Dean again, watching his eyes closely. “You called me Sammy, no one ever calls me that.”

“It suits you somehow, I dunno, it felt right. But I won’t call you that if you don’t like it.”

“No! I mean, no, it’s good. I…uh…I liked it.”

“What else do you like, Sammy?” Dean asked, eyes twinkling with a mischievous challenge.

Sam saw that look and heard what Dean was really asking. “You holding me like this, makes me feel better.”

“Good,” Dean said, leaning down towards Sam.

Sam closed his eyes as Dean got too close to look at, he groaned when he felt Dean’s lips brush his gently. His hands tightened around Dean, and he surged up for a harder kiss, their mouths met in a furious tangle of bruising teeth against lips, gently swirling tongues and delicious noises from both of them. The kiss seemed to go on forever and Sam had given up all hope of anything ever feeling better in the whole world when Dean’s hands moved down to grip him under his ass, hauling him upright to sprawl across Dean’s lap.

Dean kissed his way down the side of Sam’s neck, and Sam could feel his heart speed up like it was trying to race its way out of his ribcage. Dean stopped at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and bit down on the tender skin just above Sam’s collarbone, suckling hard at the same time. Sam lost all sense of time and space, for all he’d known he’d fallen off the rock and down into the castle garden hundreds of feet below. Dean finally released him and licked over the spot until Sam whined in the back of his throat.

“Sammy, can you feel it?” Dean asked, sounding winded and out of breath.

Sam realized that there was something different, like they were surrounded in a cloud of invisible dandelion fluff, the air felt soft and gently spiky. “Yeah, I can. It’s everywhere around us. What is it, Dean?”

“It’s you and me, we’re doing that,” Dean murmured, hips beginning to move in an insistent rhythm beneath Sam. Sam tightened his legs around Dean’s hips and met him, thrust for thrust, both of them groaning at the feeling surging up between their moving bodies.

Sam didn’t care about whatever the strange feeling in the air meant, all that mattered was the man beneath him, making him feel things he’d never imagined. Things like _mine, mine mine_. He wanted this forever with Dean. He never wanted to stop, and the words tumbled out of him and he pressed closer into Dean’s body, wanted to be one with him and he didn’t care that he might be saying all that out loud, he just wanted Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean groaned, as his whole body stiffened under Sam, his hands pulling Sam even closer and that extra pressure pulled Sam over the edge with him. They fell against each other, wrecked and momentarily sated; panting a little, breaths blowing the fluff in the air in a swirl that they couldn’t quite see. Then it all seemed to rise up and blow away on the evening wind into the trees, being replaced by a distant call coming up the mountain in an all-too familiar voice. “Dean! Where the hell are you? Dean!”

Dean crushed Sam to him, kissing him furiously as if it was all of their first and last times at once. Finally he broke away, moving Sam off his lap, and attempting to stand. Sam pushed him up a little and then stood himself.

Dean looked up at him, moonlight gilding Dean’s forehead and cheekbones, that ethereal otherness glowing out of him. “That’s my father calling, I’m sorry, I gotta go.”

Not knowing what to say or do after an encounter like this, Sam stuck out his hand to shake and was surprised when instead Dean pulled him into a full body hug, murmuring against his neck, “You’re a real goof aren’t you? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

And then Dean was gone down the forest path and Sam was alone in the moonlight with his heart full of something that he knew from all the minstrel stories had to be love. He cleaned himself up as quickly as he could and sat down again to think. This was his safe place, none of the other castle people ever found him up here, but Dean had. Dean, unlike anyone he’d ever met, but somehow the most familiar and instantly beloved. Sam had never known that you could connect with someone like that, so quickly and completely.

There was no space left in his brain, it was all filled with thoughts of Dean. All the worries of losing the contest were gone as if they’d never troubled him. He’d never felt so happy, so this was what it really felt like then, to be happy, to want to be with someone, so this was love, it’d found him after all. Here he’d resigned himself to only ever being a lonely not-even an apprentice forester, content to wander the duke’s land, looking after the animals for the duke the rest of his life. But now there was Dean, and he had changed everything.

 


	3. Terms of Venery (Part 2 of 4)

!~*@~*!

Later that evening Sam was down in the cookhouse, drinking his fill of mead, celebrating amongst all the others who looked strangely at him. He should have been mourning his loss, but no, Sam had a silly grin on his face he couldn’t get rid of, didn’t want to, because Dean had put it there. Finally someone joined him on his bench furthest away from the group by the fire.

“Heya, Sam, you’re looking pretty happy for having lost today.”

“Oh, hey, Brady, yeah, guess so.”

“You gonna shoot in the next contest? The one tomorrow, Forester John just announced it, the Duke is even going to be here to watch.”

“Maybe, not sure there’s much point,” Sam answered, returning to near-glumness even though his entire body still thrummed with its new song of _DeanDeanDean_.

“I hear this time it’s gonna be for a position as his son-in-law,” Brady said with a smirk.

“For the hand of his son? Why would he do that to Dean?” Sam asked.

“Why not? Wouldn’t you want to win? If I wasn’t already wed, I’d sell my soul for a match like that. You’d have money and position, you could get out of these dull and dreary huts.”

“You shouldn’t talk like that, Brady, it’ll bring up Old Scratch before you know it,” Sam warned.

“I wouldn’t care, bring him on. I’ll talk to him again, make him another deal,” Brady boasted as he drained his mug.

“What do you mean another deal?” Sam asked, looking at him closely to see if Brady was joking.

“Just that, already made one. Wanna see what I mean? It might be something you could use in the tournament tomorrow.”

“Uh, sure I guess,” Sam said.

Brady dug in the pocket of his greatcoat and pulled out a small handful of newly made bullets shining, unmarred, glowing in the dim light from the fire.

“What about them? They’re just bullets,” Sam asked, not very interested as his mind revolved around thoughts of Dean being wed to whoever won this arbitrary contest tomorrow. All his thoughts stopped on the possibility of it being anyone other than himself, it couldn’t happen, not after tonight and all they’d shared.

“Not just bullets, Sam, my man. These are bullets that can’t ever miss and I know how to make more of ‘em,” Brady bragged.

“Really? How’s that possible?” Sam asked.

“Learned it from the Black Hunter,” Brady said with a proud shake of his shoulders.

“You’ve actually met him?” Sam asked with an undignified squeak he instantly regretted.

Brady smirked at him. “Actually, it’s a her. And she’s awesome, and yeah. I’m not kidding you they work.”

“So that’s why you’re looking so well-fed these days, huh?” Sam asked.

“Yep, keeping my family fed and then some,” Brady said, sounding even more proud of himself.

“Can you show me how to make them?” Sam asked, reluctantly deciding that he need any advantage to win Dean’s hand tomorrow. The stakes couldn’t be higher, and he’d utterly failed today.

“Sure, let’s go outside,” Brady said, standing and sweeping the bullets back into his pocket with a metallic jangle.

Sam followed Brady out into the night, all of his thoughts returned to Dean as he watched Brady shoot an owl out of the pitch-dark night sky. It suddenly seemed within his grasp that he could win the contest, and Dean. “I thought you were kidding me. So they can’t miss, huh?”

“Yep, I’ll show ya how to make some if you want.”

“Really? You’d do that?” Sam asked.

“Sure, you’ve always been a nice kid, and I’ve never forgotten the time you gave my family those rabbits when I was away so they didn’t go hungry. So, here, you try it. Just think really hard about what you want to hit.”

“Uh, okay,” Sam took a bullet from Brady’s outstretched hand and loaded it into his own pistol. He heard something flying overhead, it sounded large but far away. He concentrated on hitting whatever it was and fired. A sharp raptor’s cry was cutoff abruptly and there was a large crashing sound through the trees as whatever bird it was fell to the ground.

Brady took up a torch from the front of the cookhouse building and walked into the woods in the direction of the sound. Sam followed, wondering at the impossible accuracy. “An eagle, Sam! You’ve hit a freaking eagle.”

“Oh…oh my, I didn’t mean to, I shouldn’t have,” Sam stuttered, eagles were for noblemen to shoot down out of the sky, not a mere peasant like him.

“This is amazing! See, they really do work! You believe me now, Sam?” Brady crowed, holding the eagle up by its limp talons.

“Can I use some of these tomorrow?” Sam asked.

“I don’t think there’s enough left for a whole contest’s worth of shooting. Meet me tonight at midnight, and we’ll go up to the Glen to make some more of them.”

“Thank you, Brady, you don’t know what this means to me,” Sam said, shaking Brady’s hand. He couldn’t imagine life without Dean or more importantly Dean living a life with someone else. But he had real hope now, that he could win tomorrow and then all would be better than he’d ever dreamed possible.

“You have no idea what it means to me to be able to help you,” Brady replied, with a sideways grin that momentarily made Sam wonder if he didn’t quite mean it.

Sam left to go rest up until their rendezvous that night, leaving Brady out in the yard dressing the eagle.

!~*@~*!

Brady chuckled to himself in triumph as Sam disappeared back into the bunkhouse. “This might work, the kid actually fell for it! I might get out of the deal completely, or be able to bargain for a few more years. If Meg will take Sam’s soul to the Devil instead of mine, then it will all be worth it. No one will miss Sam, he has no family depending upon him like I do. This is the only way.”

!~*@~*!

After he left Sam, Dean had quickly made his way far enough down the path to holler to his father that he was all right, just taking a walk. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him, for now. He set to wandering without a real purpose, just needing some time to himself before going back to the Forester’s Lodge. He loved his father, but sometimes it was tough to live with John day in and day out. If he went back now, John would know right away that something had happened, something that he hadn’t approved of in advance, and he’d be angry.

“He shouldn’t be angry at you for following your heart, boy,” a strong woman’s voice came out of the dark forest to his right.

“Who’s there?” Dean asked, startled to hear another person was here on the mountain with him in the dark night.

“I’m just an old woman of the forest, name’s Missouri. Come with me boy, need to have a talk with you,” she said, stepping into the small clearing.  Dean could see she was short and round all over, her close-cropped hair very dark in the moonlight. She gestured towards a small path and he followed her for a little ways along it, remaining silent. Missouri led him into her small hut and silently served him a cup of herb tea. She studied his face and nodded to herself.

“Dean, there is a great peril that will be visited upon you on the morrow. The only chance you have is to be wearing the bridal wreath when the shooting starts tomorrow. It will be given to you some time tonight. No matter how stupid you think it looks, you wear that thing, right on your head, you hear me, Dean?”

“Whatever lady, I’m not sure as hell not getting married tomorrow, so I’m not gonna have any sort of  wreath,” Dean scoffed, finishing the tea off so that he could make a hasty exit. He stood and handed her the cup. “I appreciate your hospitality, Missouri, but it is late and my father will be searching for me by now.”

Missouri reached out and grabbed one of Dean’s wrists. “Dean, wear your wreath, please. Otherwise you will break Sam’s heart.”

“What do you know about Sam?” Dean growled, feeling a sudden wave of protectiveness crash over him.

Missouri smiled at his response. “He is yours, you are his, that is what I know. So you best be wearing your wreath, boy.” She dropped his wrist and pushed him towards the door.

Dean took the hint and quickly left through the door made of tanned hide. The rest of the way down the mountain her words echoed through him, _wear your wreath, he is yours, you are his_ until he felt his whole body vibrating with the acceptance of this obvious truth.

!~*@~*!

Dean was back in his room with his cousin, Jo. She sat on his bed cuddling him, there was no other word for it. He was upset to hear the news that there was to be a shooting contest tomorrow for his hand in marriage. “I can’t believe my father would do this to me. I thought, god, I really thought he’d let me decide. And to be offered up like some prize bull! I’ll never forgive him, Jo, never.”

“It surprised me when I heard him announce it right after Gordon got the winner’s wreath today. But you weren’t even there to hear it, where were you?” Jo asked, stroking his back in a comforting circle.

“I was, uh, well, no I wasn’t there. I was up on the mountain, falling in love,” Dean confessed. Jo was the only person he would trust with this, the only one who could possibly understand.

“Ooh, what? Really? You tell me everything, right now, Dean,” Jo demanded, eyes alight with an interested fire.

“He works for my father, his name’s Sam, and I don’t know, it was like magic or something. The trees led me to him and made sure that we found each other, and you know me, I listen to the trees.”

“Sam, huh? I never would have guessed, otherwise I would have introduced you right when you got here. Glad you found each other. Guess you have the trees to thank, huh?”

“Yeah, I did thank them, on the way back tonight, through the forest. But, hey, I was gonna ask you about the lady who lives out there, she’s short and kinda round, black as the night sky. She said her name was Missouri. Do you know her?”

“Uh huh, she’s the hermit. She never talks to anyone though, we all just leave her food and don’t bug her. Why, what happened?”

“She had me in to her hut for a cup of tea and a chat. That’s what she called it, but it was more like a whup upside the head and a lecture. She said all this crazy stuff about me getting married and having to wear a bridal wreath to save my life tomorrow. It freaked me out, especially now that you tell me, thanks to Dad and this stupid shooting contest, the married thing might actually be happening.”

“Oh it’s happening, Dean, like it or not, they’ve even ordered the flowers for the wreath. I heard Ellen talking to Ash about them.”

“So this might be my last night as an unmarried man, huh? And all I can think about is Sam, my Sammy, that’s what I called him and he liked it and it felt so right and—damn, Jo, what if someone else wins the contest? I mean, I know he’s a good shot, but Sam lost, just today, to that peasant named Gordon.”

“Thank god he didn’t win the contest for your hand tomorrow, Gordon’s awful, not right in the head if you know what I mean. He’s always going on about bloodsuckers and how they’re coming to turn us all into evil denizens of the night.”

“Sounds like I dodged a bullet on that one,” Dean joked, instantly regretting it. Just even thinking for a moment about becoming Gordon’s husband instead of Sam’s turned his stomach.

“Oh ha ha, that’s hilarious. Don’t joke, Dean. Who knows, he might come back and shoot again tomorrow.”

“Sam will win, I know he will. He has to, Jo. We have to be together, it’s just what’s supposed to happen.”

“According to who?” Jo asked.

“The trees, my heart, I don’t know, everything. Missouri even said it, he’s mine, I’m his. God, why’s this all happening at once, I can’t stand it.” Dean complained, flopping back on the bed and covering his eyes with his arm.

A knock sounded at the door.

Jo jumped up to answer it, taking delivery of a large covered basket. She set it on the table. “So, uh, your bridal wreath is here. That’s strange that it came at night.”

“I’m not wearing a goddamned wreath, Jo,” Dean growled from the bed.

“It’s tradition for someone of your station, and so, yeah, you’re going to, it’ll look nice, I bet Sam will love it.”

“All right, let’s see this thing,” Dean grumped, standing up slowly and opening the basket. He pulled the covering off and stared at the dark wreath in the basket. It had shiny evergreen leaves, dark blue flowers of all kinds, and even some purples that were near black. It was very fragrant with deep green bay leaves woven throughout.

“Hmm, that’s a funeral wreath, why’d they send you that?” Jo asked.

“I don’t know, but I guess I’m wearing it one way or the other. At least it’s got bits from all my favorite trees, and it’s not all fancy and bright.” Dean set it on his brow and spun around. Jo giggled and pushed him towards the mirror.

Jo pressed her nose into his back and stared into the mirror over his shoulder. “Your eyes, Dean. Gosh, they’re so beautiful.”

“Thanks cousin. You’re not shooting tomorrow are you?” Dean teased, spinning and grabbing her around the waist.

Jo laughed and pushed him away. “No, I’m already pledged to another anyway, you know that!”

“Kidding, I kid. So what do I have to wear, or is that up to me? And why has my dad conveniently left the building so he doesn’t have to deal with me and this whole stupid wedding thing?” Dean took the wreath off his head and laid it back inside the basket.

“There was something about a hunting party for a bear, but I think it was just all the revelry after today’s contest, he’s gone, so you can decide what to think about it all on your own. I say, wear something clean, and that you like. How about that green shirt with the darker green vest?”

“Fine, but only if I can borrow your red scarf,” Dean said, pulling the shirt and vest out of his cupboard and hanging it on the hook next to the mirror.

“I’ll go get it out of my chest and air it out tonight. See you tomorrow, cousin,” Jo said, blowing Dean a kiss across the room.

“Thank you, Jo,” Dean answered, flopping back onto the bed and staring up at the ceiling, thinking hard about Sam, and his lips and his hands and oh god how good he’d felt in his arms, the trees surrounding them in protection, their blissful union at the edge of the forest. A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, thinking it was Jo coming back because she’d forgotten something, he yelled, “Enter!”

!~*@~*!

 

 


	4. Terms of Venery (Part 3 of 4)

 

The door creaked open, was shut quickly and unfamiliar footsteps came through into his room. They made sense as he smelled who it was, full of the night and the forest and the scent of gunfire—Sam. “Sam, why are you here?”

“I came to tell you, that I’m going to win tomorrow, I’ll win you, I swear, Dean. If you want me to, I mean, you do, right?” Sam paused by the doorway as if he was unsure he was welcome.

Dean saw his uncertainty and rushed towards him, grabbing hold of his shoulders. “Of course, that’s all I can think about, what if you don’t though? I couldn’t bear it, Sam.”

“Me either, that’s why I’m here. See this eagle? I shot it tonight, in the dark. I brought it to prove to you, that I will win tomorrow. Your dad is right, I’m the best marksman around.” Sam raised the dressed eagle in one hand and moved away to set it on the table.

“You are, you will…I mean, I know you will. It can’t go any other way,” Dean said, stepping towards him, circling his arms around Sam’s slim waist.  “Look, there in the mirror. See us together in our reflection, can there be any doubt we belong together?”

Sam looked at Dean’s face in the reflection, a smile finally breaking through that Dean returned. “You’re so beautiful Dean, I don’t deserve someone like you.”

Dean spun him around and grabbed Sam around the neck, pulling him down for a rough kiss. “You doofus, don't you remember? The trees gave us their blessing tonight. I want no other but you, Sammy.”

The name, seemed to shimmer around the two of them entwined in each other’s arms, circling around the two of them. It felt like another pair of arms pulling them closer together. There was a noise of deep pleasure and Dean realized it was coming from him. Kissing Sam was the best thing he’d ever felt. Dean walked them backwards to his bed, removing as many of Sam’s clothes as he could get to. Sam finally got on board and interrupted their kiss long enough to take the rest off.  He stood before Dean, completely naked in the candlelight.

“You are the one who is beautiful, Sammy. I can’t wait to taste all of you,” Dean said, running his hands down Sam’s flanks, delighting in the shivers his touch produced. He gracefully sank down to his knees, holding tight to the globes of Sam’s ass. His day’s growth of stubble made a scratching sound as he rubbed his face along Sam’s upper thighs. Sam let out a deep groan above him, cutting himself off with a gasp when Dean’s lips closed over the tip of his cock.

Dean looked up at Sam, all the way above him, staring down in wonder as he took Sam all the way inside until his nose bumped against the planes of Sam’s belly. Sam began to whine as Dean slowly sucked up and down the length of him, pausing to tongue into the slit each time. Dean finally took pity on him and sped up his movements while increasing his suction.  Sam’s hands landed on the sides of Dean’s head holding him steady so he could fuck his hips in shallow thrusts. Dean swept a finger through the mess escaping his mouth and applied it to the rim of Sam’s opening, gently working his finger inside.

Sam’s thrusts sped up and went a little wild until he stiffened, lengthened even further and came hard, filling up Dean’s mouth all in a rush. Sam pushed Dean off from his continued suckling and held his head, tipping it up so Dean would look at him again. “You’re amazing, Dean.”

Dean didn’t say anything, just stood up, and pushed Sam to lay back on his bed. Sam flopped down, legs parting automatically, waiting to see what Dean would do next. He removed his layered clothing slowly, folding each piece carefully as Sam’s dark eyes followed his every movement. The candles flickered as he rummaged in a basket under the bed, coming up with a small jar. He unstoppered it and scooped out something that glistened, some kind of slippery unguent. Dean knee walked across the bed between Sam’s legs and reached behind Sam’s balls. “Gonna open you up, Sammy.”

Sam couldn’t answer, mesmerized by the aura of command that Dean was projecting, and opened his legs even wider. Dean grinned as he slowly pushed two fingers deep inside Sam. The noises Sam made were muffled as he bit into the pillow beside him. Dean ran his other hand down Sam’s belly as if to gentle him like a horse. “Ssh, Sammy, let me in,” he encouraged.

Hearing the words, Sam took a deep breath and concentrated on willing his muscles to open, wanting more than anything to feel Dean deep inside him. Slowly the key seemed to undo the lock and he soon found himself fucking himself down onto Dean’s fingers, even when he added another one. Dean smiled and kept making encouraging noises above him, alternating between looking down at where their bodies were joined and up at Sam’s face.

“You ready, Sammy?” Dean finally asked.

Words failed him, deserted him, fled before the power that was the feeling rising up through his whole body, he needed Dean, inside of him, now. They needed to become one. All he could do was nod and plead with his eyes. It seemed to work, because Dean removed his fingers from inside Sam, and used them to slick his own cock up, holding it steady at Sam’s entrance. He pushed in slowly and at a steady rate, not hurried, just unstoppable. And Sam opened and pulled him in, accepting the intrusion and marveling at how right it felt to be filled up by Dean. _Only Dean, never another. Only Dean belonged inside him._

“Only me huh?” Dean asked with a brilliant grin.

Sam blushed that he had spoken those words aloud, but he nodded, because they were the truth. There was nothing else that mattered now, Dean inside him, filling the space he’d never known was empty, making himself at home because it was where he’d always belonged.

“You keep saying those things, this is all going to be over way too fast, Sammy,” Dean said with a laughing growl.

Sam relaxed then and finally was able to speak consciously, “I’m sorry, Dean. It’s just…this is something I’ve never done.”

“Me either, Sammy, me either,” Dean answered, one hand coming to rest over Sam’s heart. “But I’m pretty sure it’s supposed to work like this.”

“I never thought it could feel…uh, this good,” Sam said, sounding like an overwhelmed child to his own ears. Dean’s reaction though, told him otherwise.

“You’re amazing, Sammy. _We_ are amazing, and it’s true. I’m yours, you are mine. This is how it’s supposed to be,” Dean said, hooking Sam’s legs up over his broad shoulders. There were no more words to be said, just the feeling of raw power and movement and friction sweeping them both away from this world into one of just two. The two of them possessed of each other, body, mind, heart, soul all entwined.

Sam came back to himself when he felt a cool wetness swiping over the tender skin between his legs. Dean had a cloth and was cleaning him up. He laid his hand on top of Dean’s.

“Oh, you’re back in the land of the living, good, thought I broke you,” Dean chortled softly.

“Is it always like that?” Sam asked.

“Dunno, guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” Dean said, throwing the cloth onto the table and blanketing Sam with his body. They rearranged themselves until it was comfortable, Dean nosing his way up the side of Sam’s throat, kissing him softly.

Sam tightened his arms around Dean, holding him closer. “Thank you. For this…for tonight. If I don’t win tomorrow, at least we’ll have this.”

Dean put his fingers over Sam’s mouth, “Don’t…don’t you say that. I’m yours, and you are mine. What happens tomorrow doesn’t matter.”

“YesYes, it does! If I don’t win, I couldn’t bear to see you marry another.”

“You will win, Sam. I know you will. All will be well, you’ll see,” Dean said, hand resting over Sam’s heart again. “There isn’t another way for our story to go.”

“Our story?” Sam asked.

“The one that started this morning, when you handed me that cup of water. You felt it, right? When our fingers touched, the spark between us?” Dean asked.

“I did, yes, it was all I could think about,” Sam said. “I’m sorry I have to leave, there’s someone I need to meet with before the competition tomorrow.”

“At this late hour?” Dean questioned, trying to pull Sam back into bed with him. Sam resisted though and stood up from the bed to begin the search for his clothing.

Sam pulled his clothes back on as quickly as he could, but sat on the bed next to Dean with his cloak in his lap. He leaned down to kiss Dean one last time and Dean’s hands ended up getting tangled in the cloak.

They parted with a laugh as Dean struggled to unwrap himself. He’d gotten caught up in some embroidery that was on a piece of cloth sewn into the inside of the cloak. Dean held it up to the light to unhook his bracelet carefully.  “Who did this fine stitching?”

“I don’t know, this was the blanket I was wrapped in, when they found me. Why do you ask?”

“It looks just like the type of stitching my mother did, she was always embroidering baby blankets for everyone our family knew, just like this.”

Sam leaned down one for one last kiss that made Dean lose his trail of thought, nothing else was as important, as crucial as mapping out and memorizing carefully as Sam’s beautiful, agile mouth.

!~*@~*!

In the Wolf’s Glen as midnight approached, Brady cut himself, letting out a  small measure of his blood into the carved pewter bowl. He spoke some words in Latin, swirling its contents.

The wind roared through the tall trees, incredibly loud for a brief moment, all the birds shocked out of sleep and taking confused flight, then all went quiet and still. The sound of footsteps approaching from the deep dark forest sounding like the final doom of a slamming dungeon door.

“Good evening, Brady, I like to see a man come on time for once. It’s admirable really, not having to go grab you and bring you here kicking and screaming like a child.”

“Good evening, Samiel, I thank you for the compliment,” Brady said, bowing deeply before the Black Hunter.

“What did I tell you? Please, call me, Meg. We’re business partners after all,” the dark-haired woman smiled. To call it an evil grin would not do it justice, it held all the evil that existed in this world and the next, and then some more on top of that. It promised utter ruin, complete destruction and held untold glee at the prospect of dealing out both to as many humans as possible.

Brady shivered where he stood, and thought of his small family, safe and warm back in their hut, their bellies finally full. _It was worth it_ , he told himself, _it was all worth it_.  “Tonight, I will bring before you an offering, of another to take my place.”

“Oh, you went for that plan after all. And here I thought you’d be all noble about it. Okay, so who’s the sap and when’s he getting here?”

“He’ll be here at midnight and I promised to make him some bullets. He needs them for the contest tomorrow.”

“Ohhh, a contest, I love those. Promise me there will be shooting of peasants?”

“No, of course not. Just targets. But he seems set on winning it, says it will be his whole future on a plate.”

“Let’s make it a game to make it more interesting then, whoever shoots the seventh bullet, that’s who I’ll take.”

“So, you’ll help me make more of the bullets then? Because I no longer have that many. Not for both of us to shoot in the contest,” Brady asked, picturing himself handing Sam a handful of newly cast bullets with a grin that wouldn’t give away his betrayal.

“Of course, of course,” Meg answered, waving her hand at the stone table before them, and all the implements that were required to cast bullets appeared. “You gotta bleed a little more though.”

Brady swallowed nervously and rubbed at the freshly bound cut on his arm. “I can’t just use the blood from calling you?”

“Nuh uh, no way,” Meg shook her head vigorously, long dark hair flying about her face. “It’s got to be fresh to work. You do want these bullets to work, right?”

Brady didn’t answer, just sliced another cut in the other arm and bled into the bowl that Meg held out. Her eyes sparkled with delight as the deep ruby liquid flowed and dripped. She reminded him of the chants to say over the bullets as they were cast, then left to stand guard over the entrance to the Glen. Soon there were footsteps approaching up the trail, it was undoubtedly Sam. His approach halted with a sharp suddenness that caught her attention. She heard him speaking to someone which didn’t seem possible as the forest was empty except for her two dupes.

“You say that you’re my mother? Is that really you? How can it be?” Sam’s voice came through the trees, sounding young and unsure.

“Oh, Sam look at you, you grew up so strong and tall,” a woman’s voice responded with a real warmth and sadness that made Meg’s skin crawl.

“And you are beautiful, mother, so very beautiful. I wish I had known you,” Sam replied, with a barely contained sob.

“Sam, you must not go to the Glen tonight. Please, son. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to raise you all these years. But the one you consider your friend means to trick you.”

Meg shook her head in anger, _how dare this ghost appear to thwart her plans! Damn shades showing up wherever they weren’t wanted or needed._ She quickly delved into Sam’s mind, pulling the threads of his recent obsession, the man, this one that was the prize tomorrow, the one he counted on for his life’s joy, Dean. Meg whispered a conjuring spell and an image of Dean appeared in front of the ghostly presence of Sam’s long-dead mother.

“Dean? How?” Sam could somehow see Dean standing on the wall of the Knights Bridge. But Dean did not respond or even acknowledge Sam’s cry, he looked out on the horizon with an insurmountable sadness and jumped into the swiftly flowing river, head disappearing under the dark water. A bridal wreath floated above the spot where his beloved had just been.

Sam screamed as loudly as he ever had, feeling ripped in two at what had to be a premonition, it had to be what would happen if he failed tomorrow. All he could think of was that winning was all that mattered now, he ignored his mother’s warnings and ran heedlessly forward right through her cold ghostly presence into the Wolf’s Glen.

The ghost stared after her son and then found Meg’s dark eyes. She shook her head sadly and disappeared back into nothingness. The demon wind whipped up the trees again, swirling through the Glen with great force and tremendous noise, the birds took flight once more into the night sky, flying into each other, dying as they hit the tree trunks. Meg stepped through the carnage with a dead smile on her lips to watch the bullets be cast by her star pupil and his new assistant.

!~*@~*!

Dean woke at dawn, troubled by terrible dreams of himself jumping off a bridge while Sam watched in horror; or of Sam walking towards him through drifts of dead birds in the forest. _“What terrible things to dream on my wedding morning. All curses be upon my father who still has not shown his face to me,”_ Dean grumbled as he washed up and made himself presentable for the day. There soon came a lot of noise outside and a lively knock on his door.  He opened it to see Jo, Ash and Ellen waiting with trays of food and more flowers.

“We come bearing gifts! Good wedding morn, Dean!” Ash grinned at him, brandishing a plate of sliced meats and cheese and a long loaf of freshly baked bread.

Ellen came through with a soft kiss to his cheek and handed him a jug of wine. “For your breakfast sir, to start this day off in a good mood.”

“You knew I’d need it, thanks, Ellen,” Dean said, receiving all the attention with an embarrassed smile.

Jo was last in the door, wrapping a beautiful red silk scarf around Dean’s neck as she passed him. “It makes you more beautiful than ever, Dean. Whoever wins today, will be certainly be a happy man.”

“So it’s all men that have entered?” Dean asked, adjusting the scarf to avoid her eyes.

“No, but the only two that have a real shot, haha, are Sam and Brady,” Ash joked, cramming his mouth full of a slice of bread piled high with meat.

“I thought Brady was married already,” Dean said, reaching out to make himself a sandwich to settle his roiling stomach.

“He is, but he still has entered, said something about sorting it all out afterward,” Ellen said, rubbing Dean’s shoulder as she observed him.

Dean leaned into Ellen’s comforting touch a little. “Sam came to me last night. He promised me that he would win.”

“Oh honey, why did he promise such a thing?” Ellen asked, hugging Dean around the waist with one arm.

“He killed an eagle, last night, in the dark. He said that proved he could win. And I, well, I need to believe him, that’s all I can do,” Dean said, eyes fixed on the rumpled bed where they’d made their promises to each other with their words and their bodies.

“Cousin, I’m sure he will. Sam’s always been your father’s favorite shot. Brady could barely keep his own family fed,” Jo said firmly, hands on her hips.

“I don’t know, I just can’t picture anything other than being with Sam. It can’t go any other way…” Dean said, voice trailing off as his imagination failed him, he just couldn’t picture anything else for his future. It had to be Sam.

“Dean, let’s get you dressed and ready, okay? Where’s your wreath?”

“I don’t want to wear it,” Dean said, knowing that he was being grumpy for no real reason.

Jo shook her head in frustration and bumped their hips together. “We talked about this last night, and besides, didn’t Missouri tell you that you had to wear it to be safe?”

Dean sighed and crossed the room to take the wreath out of its basket.  Ash and Ellen gasped when he turned around to show it to them.

Ellen reached out a shaking hand to touch the wreath as if to make sure it was real. “Dean, that’s a funeral wreath.”

“I know. But that’s what they sent me. And I guess I’m wearing it, Ellen. The old lady out in the forest said I had to, and something just tells me she’s right,” Dean answered, feeling that ring of truth to the idea, no matter how strange it seemed to all of them to go against tradition.

“But, dude, it’s a bad omen to wear it on your wedding day, you know that,” Ash said.

“I don’t care, my stupid father’s forcing me to get married to someone I don’t even get to choose, then fine. I’ll wear the thing they sent me. Besides, it’s got all my favorite trees. See, here’s ash, just like you, dude, and here’s fir and some pine too, there’s even bay.”

“You and your trees,” Ellen said with a bemused smile, setting the wreath on his head. “You look very handsome, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t answer, too wrapped up in thoughts of the contest, and how his whole life was about to be decided. _Samsamsam_ was the drumbeat pulsing through his mind.

!~*@~*!

 


	5. Terms of Venery (Part 4 of 4)

!~*@~*!

“So you’ve got your four bullets, right, Sam?” Brady asked, jingling the bullets in his pocket.

“Yeah, but hopefully I’ll only need one,” Sam said, searching the crowd for Dean. Their eyes finally met across the field and Sam smiled wide enough that he felt like his face would crack. His heart swelled up with happiness just at the sight of Dean, his beautiful face framed by the wreath on his head and the red scarf at his neck.

The contest, it turned out, had more than one stage. Sam and Brady were equally matched through three turns at harder and harder target shots. The crowd went wild as they were able to hit targets accurately at incredible distances that should have been impossible. But the final test came down to shooting a dove that Dean had to hold in a cage. Brady used a regular bullet and missed, nearly shooting the Duke.

Sam took aim at the dove, steadying himself with a look at his soon-to-be spouse and let the bullet fly. Meg appeared in a flash of black smoke, blocking the bullet so that it ricocheted into Dean’s head. No one but Brady and Sam seemed to notice Meg. She grinned at Brady and disappeared in another flash of black smoke.

Dean fell to the ground, appearing to have been grievously wounded, the red blood from the injury instantly soaking the red scarf. The cage hit the ground next to him, releasing the dove which took to the sky in a panic of scattered feathers.

Sam raced across the field to Dean, pushing through the crowd until he was able to reach him. He fell to the ground beside Dean’s still body and gathered him up, cradling Dean in his arms, his head bowed, tears pouring forth with his anguished cries shaking both of them.

Dean came to, because of the tears falling onto his own face. “Sam, hey, I’m okay,” Dean whispered, holding onto Sam’s shirt with one hand.

“I thought, oh god, I thought I’d killed you, Dean,” Sam said in surprise. They kissed then, not caring that the entire crowd was watching or that there was blood soaking into Sam’s white shirt. The union of their lips seemed to be more than just a kiss, it was a joining deep and true. They parted and looked at each other, silently vowing that nothing would keep them apart.

Missouri made her way forward out of the crowd and stood behind the embracing couple and put one hand on each of their heads. “I bless the union of these two souls. We are witness to a powerful rare thing today: soul-mates reuniting before our very eyes. A true blessing for us all to witness. Give thanks and praise!” Missouri shouted with an authoritative fervor that rang through the trees.

Meg appeared again, grasping Brady’s wrist with both hands and yanking him down into a kiss that he furiously resisted. After a long minute, he fell, dead to the ground. The crowd went silent in astonishment. Meg laughed loudly in triumph. “Neither of these men deserved to win, they were using my bullets bought with Brady’s soul. You can cheat in a contest of skill, but you can’t cheat your way out of a deal with me!” Meg disappeared in a flash of black smoke, her words ringing out into the silence.

Duke Gabriel was furious when he heard the story. Sam had cheated at the contest, a most grievous crime. He pronounced Sam’s immediate banishment. Everyone protested loudly, even John the Forester came forward to give voice to how good of a man Sam was known to be by all. The Hermit, Missouri was the final witness, she explained that the combined effects of Sam’s all-consuming love for Dean, and the fear of losing him to another caused Sam to stray from his life of goodness.

“Fine, fine. Have it your way. You two are now married, you tree-hugging weirdos deserve each other,” the Duke said dismissively, waving both hands at them as if to shoo them away.

Sam and Dean kissed passionately in front of all once again, Dean throwing his bloodied bridal (thankfully not funeral) wreath into the sky as the crowd clapped in joy for them all. They walked off to Dean’s rooms arm in arm as the crowd sang the traditional marriage song. They could hear John the Forester join in, his bass voice carried under the rest. Sam and Dean didn’t mind though, too wrapped up in each other, and their thoughts of a future together.  When they reached Dean’s room, Sam carried him over the threshold, both laughing until they saw Duke Gabriel lying on Dean’s bed.

“I get first crack at him, Duke’s Privilege and all,” the Duke sneered at their surprised faces.

“Sir, I had not thought that you would actually do that,” Sam sputtered in protest.

“Aw, cut it out, Sam. I’m just kidding you,” Duke Gabriel laughed.

“Why would you joke about such a thing? I don’t understand,” Dean asked, holding Sam close around his waist.

“I’m giving up on getting this message through to you two yahoos, you always manage to screw it up somehow. So here—have a nice trip back boys. Smell ya later,” Duke Gabriel reached up and touched both of their foreheads.

!~*@~*!

Sam shook his head, hitting it into the car window. The car wasn’t moving, the engine wasn’t even on. He looked over and saw Dean, snoring softly against the driver’s side window. It was dark out, and the moon was up. Putting his hand down on the seat between them, he jumped in surprise. There was a prickly bunch of plants or something. He clicked on the overhead dome light and saw a wreath made of dark flowers and greens sitting on top of a folded-up, embroidered blanket. The one that had been stitched into his cloak.

Dean muttered and smacked his lips, waking up blinking into the light. “Whazzat?”

“I don’t know. It was here when I woke up. Where are we, Dean?”

Dean peered out the windows at the dark landscape, lit only by the moonlight. “Hell if I know, this could be freakin’ anywhere.”

“Why are we sleeping in the car, though?” Sam asked, turning the wreath around in his hands. “Weren’t we just driving?"

“I don’t remember a thing. I was having a crazy-ass dream about pistol shooting contests and jumping off bridges and I don’t even know what else.”

“Were you like a lumberjack or something?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, it was called something else though. Hey, how would you know?”

“Lucky guess. Or I had the same damn dream. Something got us again, Dean. I mean, look at this wreath, it’s got all kinds of plants you use in magic, and this blanket, where the hell did it come…” Sam stopped talking when he unfolded the blanket. His name was stitched on one corner in blue thread. _Samuel Robert Winchester born, May 2, 1748._ He ran his fingers over the stitching and looked over at Dean.

“Sammy, what the hell?”

“I have no idea. In the dream, this blanket, it was stitched into the lining of the cloak I always wore. All I really remember was Dad was there, but he was my boss, not my dad, and Brady, this guy I knew in college was there too. And something about magic bullets and Meg. I had to win you.”

“Win me?” Dean asked.

“Some shooting contest or something. I don’t know, it was weird,” Sam answered, looking down at the blanket.

Dean shifted in his seat, obviously uncomfortable. “Having to win me in a contest is pretty damn weird if you ask me, yeah.”

Sam put the wreath on the dashboard and turned to look at Dean in the dim light. “But I did win, you’re mine, I won you, Dean.”

Dean folded his brother into his arms. “You didn’t have to win a contest, ya idiot.”

Sam melted into Dean’s embrace, glad that his brother had accepted the crucial truth of their life. “Guess it was a trickster or something.”

“Must have been, I have no idea otherwise. I’ll just start driving, so we can figure out where the hell we are,” Dean hugged Sam a little closer, preparing to release him.

“Dean?” Sam mumbled into Dean’s neck, lips moving over his warm skin. “I’m glad we, you know.”

“What?” Dean asked, shifting Sam to lay down with his head on Dean’s lap.

Sam snaked one arm around Dean’s waist and stared up at his big brother. “Came back here…together.”

“You’re not going anywhere without me, remember? You won me.” Dean chortled, shifting into reverse and backing up onto the road.

He punched the gas and they took off in a cloud of dirt and gravel, in which direction he didn’t know. But it didn’t matter, not really, not when Sam’s head was cradled on Dean’s lap with the blanket over his shoulders and the strange but lovely smelling wreath sitting on the dashboard glinting in the moonlight.

~FIN~  
  



End file.
